Soldiers Fighting in a War Against Our Own Advice
by non.timebo.mala
Summary: Dean gives up on his promise and goes after Sam. Eventual Dean/Cas. Yes, that means slash.
1. Prologue

Dean kissed Lisa softly on the lips, gave her a final smile, and walked out the door.

It had been almost a year.

Almost a year of hunting, not for evil, but for a job. It was harder than Dean would have thought, but after a few months of fruitless searching, he figured he should have known better. He didn't have any experience, references, or a college education; how far could he expect to get in the real world? Still, he helped out as much as he could. Lisa never asked where he got the money, and he was grateful for that.

Almost a year of driving, not cross-state, not to Bobby's, not to random bar or a possible hunt. No, mostly Dean drove to the baseball diamond, to the batting cages with Ben, to the grocery store. It was strange to him, being confined to a neighbourhood so small, almost foreign. The whole of America used to be his back yard. And now his back yard was, well, his backyard. It wasn't a bad thing, not necessarily. Dean appreciated the parking space in front of Lisa's house – _his_ house – that was always open for his Impala. It also meant less money spent on gas. Sometimes though, only sometimes, Dean could feel his foot twitch towards the gas pedal when the sign that read "Leaving Cicero" came into view. But he never passed it.

It had been almost a year of looking over to the passenger seat and not seeing Sam. Sometimes Lisa sat there, sometimes Ben, sometimes no one at all. But never Sammy.

Up until today, Dean had been okay with this life. He wasn't happy, no, but he never really expected to be, not after everything. He knew the most he could hope for was being content and, though it had taken a while, Dean was almost there. He could almost reach out and touch it.

So for almost a year now, Dean had lived a "normal" life. As normal as could be expected of him, at least. He still slept with a knife under his pillow. He kept the Colt in the drawer of the bedside table and Lisa never asked about it. And, in typical Dean Winchester fashion, he tried to forget.

Night after night, he lost himself in Lisa, hoping the feel of her body under his would be enough to stop the flow of memories, if only for a little while. And sometimes it would. Some nights he would fall asleep holding her in his arms, her soft skin a comfort, and he wouldn't dream. But sometimes even she couldn't keep him from remembering. On those nights, she pretended she couldn't feel him leave the bed after he thought she'd fallen asleep. She pretended she didn't notice him passed out the next morning in his car, bottle of whiskey in hand, as she left for work.

And he pretended he couldn't see the hurt on her face.

So yes, he had almost been content, for some of the time, at least. But Dean was done with that now, done with all of it. There would be no more job hunting, no more grocery runs, no more shock jolting through him when he turned to the passenger seat and saw Ben's little face instead of Sam's.

Why?

Because it had been almost a year. Eleven months and nineteen days, to be exact. This would make it May 2, 2011. Sammy's birthday. The day Dean would decide that he just couldn't take 'normal' anymore. Not while Sam was suffering.

The Winchesters had never put much stress on birthdays. Many of them had gone uncelebrated, some barely even noticed. But despite how it may have seemed, they were never forgotten. Dean never needed words to say "Happy Birthday" to his brother. Every May 2nd, he just passed the keys of the Impala off to him and let him drive. Sam never questioned it, just smiled knowingly and reminded himself not to forget the pie every January 24th.

When May 2, 2011 rolled around, Dean realized that it was Sam's first birthday in five straight years that he couldn't wordlessly toss him the keys. And with that knowledge, Dean popped the trunk of the Impala.

He dug around for a while before he found what he was looking for. The only vinyl album he carried with him at all times, a copy of 'High Voltage', AC/DC's first album. His dad had bought it the day it came out and had passed it on to Dean on one of the rare Christmases he was actually around. The Impala didn't have a record player, of course, and most of the motels he stayed in lacked that luxury as well. He wouldn't need it.

May 2nd, 2011 was a Monday. Ben was at school. Dean slipped into his room, laid the album on his bed and scrawled out a quick note.

_"Ben,_

_Sorry I'm not gonna be around anymore. I've got some important things I need to take care of. My dad gave this to me when I was about your age. I want you to have it. You'll get more use out of it than I will. Take care of it, okay? Your mom too._

_-__ Dean_

Lisa had the day off. He found her in the dining room, looking out the window with a glass of water in her hand. Dean stood behind her, hands on her shoulders. "I'm sorry, Lise," he whispered.

Lisa turned around and she didn't even look confused. She nodded. "Thanks for everything," he told her. And that's when he kissed her softly on the lips, gave her a final smile, and walked out the door.

He got in the Impala and, for the first time in almost a year, he drove past that sign that read "Leaving Cicero". It felt good.

He didn't know where he was going. He didn't even have an idea on how he was going to help Sam. But he knew he would. He couldn't keep his promise anymore.

_Sorry, little brother._

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_A/N: Alright, so in case you didn't catch it in the description, this STORY will eventually include Dean/Cas slash. If that's not your thing, that's totally fine, but don't read on and then freak out when it eventually shows up. You were given fair warning._

_Also, a very important not about this fic: I am pretending that the last few seconds of Swan Song never happened. Sam was never outside Lisa's house, okay? We're pretending that he's still in Hell.  
_

_The title is a line from a song called "Birds of Paradise" by the band Your Vegas._

_So what did you think? Let me know, I would love some feedback. Thanks for reading._

_- Nix (:_


	2. An Answered Prayer

_**Disclaimer: **__I do not own Supernatural, Kripke & co do. If I did, Cas and Dean would be doing more than just eye!sexing._

_**Disclaimer 2: **__The title of this story is taken from the song "Birds of Paradise" by Your Vegas. (I know, it's way too long, but I'm crap with titles.)_

_**Warning: **__This story WILL eventually include Dean/Cas in later chapters. Probably nothing graphic, but if I do decide to go there, I'll change the rating. For now, it's just T. So please __**stop reading now**__ if you're gonna freak out when it eventually shows up._

_**Note:**__ I added this to my authors note in the last chapter, but I know some people read it before I got the chance, so I'm reiterating: For this story, we are pretending that the last few seconds of Swan Song never happened. Sam is still in Hell, people._

_Alrighty, now that that's all out of the way, I'm pretty happy with this chapter, so enjoy!_

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Dean hadn't been sleeping well. For the past eleven days he'd been staying at Bobby's, sifting through book after book, trying desperately to find any kind of lead that might just be Sam's one-way ticket out of Hell.

Bobby hadn't been exactly supportive when Dean had first showed up on his doorstep, a sheepish, guilty look on his face. He'd seen both Dean and Sam go down this road before and he didn't like where it lead. But he wasn't surprised, either; Dean was a Winchester, and the most important thing to a Winchester was family. He simply sighed and nudged the door open, letting Dean walk through without much of an explanation. It wasn't needed.

Bobby made Dean _promise_ that he wasn't going to make another deal before he handed over his collection of books. He'd helped with the research every now and then, but this was Dean's mission, so he mostly left him to it. The younger hunter sat at Bobby's cluttered old desk and flipped through hundreds of pages, day after day. He threw himself into the research, trying to make up for lost time. He only left his studies when he absolutely needed to, and even then, he'd put it off for as long as possible. He'd fallen asleep with his face in the pages numerous times, only for Bobby to smack him lightly, grumbling about getting drool all over the ancient texts.

If Dean ever needed to take a break from reading, he made sure he wasn't wasting any time. He called psychics and hunters, never giving them the full story, just drilling them relentlessly for information. Hell, he'd even swallowed his pride and gone to see a witch or two. He was desperate, but there was nothing. No one could help him.

The books held only one answer. It was vague, but an answer nonetheless. Still, Dean flipped past it. He banished the voice in his head that reminded him how _he_ had been pulled out of the pit. He knew it was no use.

Until the twelfth night, that is. If Dean hadn't been sleeping well for the past eleven nights, he didn't sleep at all on the twelfth. From dusk till dawn he frantically turned the pages with nothing but a thermos of black coffee to keep him awake. And still, he found nothing. Dean slammed the book shut in frustration. The clock struck midnight.

Sam had officially been in Hell for a year.

It wasn't like there was a deadline. Dean knew that. He still had all the time in the world to find a way to save Sam, but he didn't _want_ it. The fact that he had even let it get to the point where he was actually sitting here, on the anniversary of Sam's death, _without_ Sam by his side scared the hell out of him.

Dean didn't know all that much about Hell time. He'd been in the pit for four months by earth's clock, and it had felt like forty years. Was it always like that? Did it ever vary? He didn't know, but even the _possibility_ that Sam had now been in Hell for _one hundred and twenty years_ made Dean want to just break down and _cry_.

_You don't even deserve to call him your brother anymore_.

Dean tried to shake the thoughts out of his head and he picked the book back up.

_You left him down there. For a year you left him down there_.

Dean took an angry swig of his coffee and suddenly wished it was something far stronger.

_You knew what it was like and you just gave up on him._

The words on the page began to blur and Dean realized with a twist of resentment in his gut that he was dangerously close to crying.

_You don't deserve to cry. It's your fault he's still down there. You should have done something._

The first tear hit the page, and as the moisture spread along the ink, Dean gave in. He only had one chance at this and it didn't matter anymore that he thought it would be a waste of effort, because Sam was in Hell, Sam was _suffering_ because of him. Because _he_ hadn't done anything to save him.

Moments later he was outside, shouting up at the Heavens, still trying to stop the tears from escaping and running in salty trails down his face. Screw his pride, screw his faith (or lack thereof) and screw the fact that God apparently couldn't care less about the men who had saved the world. He was out of options and he wasn't going to let Sam burn in Hell any longer, not if there was any chance this might work.

"Are you up there, you son of a bitch?" His voice was strained and thick with held-back tears and he knew Bobby could probably hear him yelling, but _screw it_, he thought, _might as well go all out_. "Are you listening to me? I don't know if you give a damn what I have to say, but I don't care. If you can hear me, you gotta help me out. You're _obligated_ to help me out, you sorry, pathetic excuse for a god! Me 'n Sam, we saved _your_ world, we saved _your_ people, and what do we get for it? Sam's in _Hell_, you bastard. Now I need _you_ to send someone to _pull him out_!"

Dean slumped against the Impala then, breathing heavily. He couldn't manage to keep the floodgates shut anymore and so he cried because he was angry at God and horrified for his brother and so, so, guilty for not going after him sooner. After a minute or two with no answer he slammed a fist onto the hood of an old Pinto, because really, this had gone _exactly_ the way he'd thought it would and he shouldn't have gotten his hopes up for nothing. He should have listened to Joshua. God wasn't listening. He didn't care. Why couldn't he just accept that?

And then Dean could hear a pair of shoes scuff against the gravel behind him. He quickly ran a palm over his face to rid his skin of the traitorous tears because he didn't want Bobby to see him emotionally wrecked and vulnerable.

"I think God might be more inclined to answer your prayers if you didn't insist on slandering him in every other sentence."

Dean knew that voice, and it wasn't Bobby's. It was deep and gravelly and somehow managed to convey age old wisdom and simple naivety all at the same time. Dean knew that if he turned around he'd see a man in a ratty old trench coat and a loose blue tie. He'd see dark hair and those blue eyes that always made him uncomfortable because they seemed to stare right through his soul like it was no big freakin' deal at all. He'd see the angel who had disappeared exactly one year ago.

"Hey, Cas." Dean tried not to sound like he'd just been crying like a little girl, though he was pretty sure Castiel knew that already.

The angel nodded his head and greeted him back with a simple "Dean," and if the hunter weren't so spent he would probably laugh out loud, because it was just so ridiculous how almost every time he sent a prayer up to a God he barely believed in, it was always Castiel who answered.

_########_

_Reviews are love! I'll let you play with a Winchester (or a Cas!) if you give me feedback!_

_- Nix (:_


	3. Because You Called

_**Disclaimer:**__ I do not own Supernatural or any of the characters. Just borrowing. (:_

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"You're back." It was, of course, a painfully obvious statement. It made Dean cringe.

Castiel, however, seemed to find it slightly amusing in its blatancy. A ghost of a smirk passed almost imperceptibly over his face. "Yes," he answered simply, as there was no other answer to give.

Dean tried to ignore the redness of his eyes and the tightness of his throat, tried to pretend that the angel had not just heard his desperate, pathetic prayer. He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, struggling to think of something that would serve as a good distraction to his tear-stained face. He knew it was absurd that, after everything, he was still concerned with maintaining his reputation as strong and indifferent.

_Old habits die hard, I guess._

"How's it going upstairs?" Dean asked, because the silence had been going on for too long and it was making him uncomfortable.

"Slow." Castiel stood there, statue-still and completely oblivious to Dean's social dilemma. He frowned. "The angels are wary of me. They do not trust me, nor should they. I killed many of our brothers and sisters during my stay on earth. But Raphael has returned. He has been helpful."

Dean was vaguely aware of that being the most he'd heard Castiel speak in a whole goddamn _year_, but he scoffed. "Raphael? The douche that blew you up? You left him in a burning ring of holy oil. You called him _your little bitch_." Dean chuckled darkly. "You sure he's not pulling another one over on you, Cas?"

Dean watched as Castiel's shoulders rose and fell slightly, a movement that was almost hidden by the ever-present trench coat that buried the angel's slight frame. "He has been helpful," Castiel repeated, and that seemed to close the subject.

Another blanket of silence fell upon the salvage yard and it was obvious that Castiel _still _hadn't learned that long periods of staring with unreadable, _freaking _blue eyes were socially unacceptable and frankly, a little unnerving.

Dean cleared his throat. "I see you got Jimmy back," he pointed out, gesturing to Castiel's familiar vessel. His eyes narrowed sceptically. "He consent to that again?"

Castiel tilted his head in that way he always used to, and that was when Dean realized he'd actually kind of_ missed_ the guy, and it wasn't so bad having him back, same as ever.

"Jimmy is no longer here, Dean," Castiel explained. "He was killed when I was. His soul is at peace."

Dean wondered why Castiel had never told him that before, but he rolled his eyes and stopped himself before he asked, because _of course _Castiel hadn't told him before; the guy was one big walking (or, you know, teleporting) Unsolved Mystery.

Castiel looked down at his vessel and his fingers traced the cuff of his trench sleeve. He looked back up at Dean and almost smiled. "I have become accustomed to this body. I kept it safe while I was in Heaven."

Dean figured that meant Cas had worked some of his angel mojo on the his body, but he kept his mouth shut, because Dean was done with small talk now and there were more important things to discuss.

"Why are you here, Cas?"

Like that.

Cas tilted his head again. He blinked. And damned if Dean didn't want to slug him right there, just for that look. It was a legitimate question, and yet Cas was staring at him the same way he had when they'd first met. His blue eyes seemed to be searching his goddamn soul just like they had before he'd said "You don't think you deserve to be saved." And damnit, that wasn't _fair_, because all Dean could do was stand there and take it. He squirmed under the angel's unrelenting gaze until he finally opened his mouth.

"Because you called." He said it like it was the most simple and obvious thing in Heaven and on earth, like it was something that Dean should have just _expected_. But in Dean's experience, help didn't just _come _when he _asked _for it. It just didn't work that way, at least not for him.

But apparently it did though, when it came to Castiel. Because the angel said those three words as if hadn't even considered the option of not answering Dean's prayer.

"I didn't call _you_," Dean reminded him, and his voice was slightly defiant because he was still trying to keep up the charade, still trying to pretend like he didn't need help even after he'd begged for it.

Castiel's expression was still blank. "You didn't have to."

_Goddamn angel._

Dean didn't have the slightest idea as to how to respond to that, so he left it alone. "Cas, you don't need to help me. Hell, you've helped me enough, you know?"

_Yeah, and then he _left.

Castiel frowned and Dean just _knew _the angel was invading his mind then, rooting around in there and trying to feel out his thoughts, his emotions. He flinched. It stopped.

"I'm sorry, Dean," Castiel said, and Dean wasn't sure if he was apologizing for being a nosy, mind-reading bastard or for ditching out on him a year ago. Maybe it was both. Probably both.

Dean just shrugged it off. "Whatever. Go back to Heaven, Cas. You gave up enough for us last time."

"You wish to bring Sam back, do you not?"

Dean stiffened, and he remembered. He remembered what he had realized earlier, that this was his _last _option and he wasn't going to get another chance to save his brother. And _of course_ he wanted him back, more than he'd ever wanted anything, _ever_. So much that it hurt. Dean needed him back. His life wasn't _life _without Sam.

"You know I do." His voice couldn't even begin to convey how much.

Somehow, Castiel understood.

"Then I will stay." He made it sound final. Dean wouldn't argue. Well, he wouldn't argue with Castiel staying, at least. But he _would _argue about _something_, because what the hell did Cas _mean_ by all this?

"Does that mean you know how to save Sam?" Dean growled, trying to keep his cool. If the answer was what he thought it would be, he was about to get pissed.

"Yes."

Yeah. He was pissed.

"You knew how to save Sam and you just _left_? You didn't even tell me? Not even a nudge in the right direction, you just _left_, without even a hint." _One hundred and twenty years, _he thought again. His body trembled. So maybe it _wasn't _all his fault, after all. "I left him rotting down there for a year, Cas, and _you_ knew how to save him!"

The angel's face was still made of stone, impossibly blank, void of any emotions, at least on the surface. "One year ago, Dean, do you remember what I said?"

Dean bit back a snarl and nodded.

Castiel seemed to want to remind him anyways. "I told you that you got what you wanted. No Heaven, no Hell. Just more of the same. I meant what I said, but now I realize, Dean: you can't be the same. Not without your brother. Nothing is the same without Sam." Castiel examined Dean's tired, half-lidded eyes before he continued. "Either way, I could not have saved him then. I did not have the resources."

Now it was Dean's turn to look confused. "Resources? What resources?"

"An army."

Dean's eyes widened. "An army?

Castiel simply nodded. "A small army, but an army nonetheless.

"Dude, what are you gonna _do_?"

Castiel angled his head one last time and looked at Dean, and, yet again, he seemed to think the answer was quite obvious. "I will do exactly what I did to raise _you_ from perdition, Dean. And I will bring Sam back." The '_I promise'_ didn't have to be spoken aloud for Dean to hear it.

And then, before Dean had the chance to question him further, Castiel was gone, and Dean was left standing alone in Bobby Singer's salvage yard.

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_So I'm not quite as happy with this chapter as I was with the last, probably because this one was just kind of one long conversation. But I felt like some things just needed to be said between the two of them before I could move on with this story. Hope you're at least slightly more satisfied with this than I am._

_And you can let me know by reviewing! Love it or hate it, I really appreciate your input. And don't worry. There's a lot more action/adventure coming up in later chapters._

_- Nix (:_


	4. Because You Called II

_**Disclaimer:**__ I do not own Supernatural or any of the characters. Just borrowing. (:_

_**Note: **__This chapter is going to basically be Chapter 2 again, except from the POV of Cas. I wanted to let you guys know because I didn't want you to feel ripped off. I originally intended for this story to be written completely from Dean's POV, and I'm still going to stick with that for the most part. But every time I sat down to think about chapter 3, all I could see was Cas standing there, waving chapter 2 in my face and saying "I have stuff to say too!" So I'm giving in to him (I mean, who wouldn't? He's Castiel, angel of the freaking Lord, holy tax accountant and sexiest angel in the garrison XD)._

_Happy reading!_

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Castiel stood beside a Buick, and out of habit, his eyes scanned his charge. He hadn't seen Dean in a year and it surprised him that it was still instinct to check him over, to make sure he was alright.

After a moment, he had his answer. He stopped searching with his eyes and started searching with his Grace, because it was clear to him that no, Dean was not alright, but his wounds were nowhere near the surface. They ran deep through the human's heart and mind and soul, ugly, infected gashes that oozed pain and anger and guilt. They looked unbearably painful, crippling, and Castiel couldn't understand how Dean could even stand up straight, because it didn't matter that his wounds weren't physical; they were bad. They tore through him raggedly like a dull scissors through cloth, and though Castiel had come to learn that humans were quite resilient creatures, he knew that anyone else would be curled up on the floor by now, rocking back and forth like a child throwing a tantrum.

But not Dean. Dean had always been strong, always been able to take hit after hit after heart breaking hit and still keep fighting. Castiel had known that from the moment he walked into that barn to meet him.

And yet, as Castiel's eyes raked over the hunter once more, he noticed the way Dean's knuckles whitened around the Impala's door handle, the way his shoulders were slightly hunched and his knees were slightly bent. He was breaking. It was a wonder the man had been able to last a year.

"You're back." It was such an inconsequential thing for Dean to say, considering how badly he was hurting. Castiel would have understood better if Dean had broke down crying, maybe thrown a few punches, maybe even begged him to fix this, to go find Sam, _now_. But then again, Dean always had a habit of surprising Castiel. The corner of his mouth twitched into what could only be called a small smirk because the hunter's attempt at nonchalance was just so unexpected.

"Yes," There was nothing else to say about the matter.

A silence descended upon the pair as they stood in the junk yard. Castiel didn't mind. Silence didn't bother him the way it seemed to bother Dean, who was rubbing at the back of his neck, so obviously trying to think of something to say. Castiel thought it might have something to do with the way Dean's face was turned a little, his cheeks marked with tear stains.

"How's it going upstairs?" Dean finally asked.

"Slow," Castiel answered with a frown. Dean was skirting around the issue with small talk, and after such a desperate prayer, Castiel couldn't help but wonder _why_. "The angels are wary of me. They do not trust me, nor should they. I killed many of my brothers and sisters during my stay on earth. But Raphael has returned. He has been helpful."

Castiel heard Dean scoff and his eyes flicked back to examine watery green. "Raphael? The douche that blew you up? You left him in a burning ring of holy oil. You called him _your little bitch_.You sure he's not pulling another one over on you, Cas?"

Castiel gave a small shrug. Honestly, he didn't understand it either. Just as the other angels were wary of Castiel, Castiel was wary of Raphael. He wanted to believe that the archangel was on his side now, but it was difficult to trust him after everything. And yet… "He has been helpful." He had. And that was all there was to it, at least for now.

More silence. A faint wind whipped stirred the leaves on the trees and crickets chirped quietly, somewhere in the distance. Their breathing seemed too loud.

Castiel's eyes bore into Dean's and he began to wonder if Dean would ever get to the point, if he would ever really ask for the help he needed. He knew he could be the one to bring it up, and if Dean really refused to ask, he would. The two years he'd spent with Dean before his return to Heaven had taught him a thing or two about humans, and in particular, _this_ human – _his_ human. Castiel had learned that humans, especially Dean, were prideful creatures. To ask for help was an embarrassment, a show of weakness that Dean rarely felt the need to expose. And though he'd prayed loud and clear for someone to help him, Castiel knew that Dean had not truly expected an answer. Now that one was staring the human in the face, he didn't know how to ask again. Castiel stared at him, almost _through_ him, and he waited. Whether Dean asked for his help or not, it would be given freely.

Dean cleared his throat. "I see you got Jimmy back. He consent to that again?" Castiel stopped a sigh from escaping his lips. Dean was still avoiding the issue with more small talk, more 'beating around the bush'. Castiel smiled faintly, so faintly that Dean didn't catch it. Dean had explained the meaning of that particular term to him almost two years ago when AC/DC's '_Beating around the Bush_' had come on the radio. Insignificant as it may be, it was yet another thing that Dean had taught him during his stay on earth. It was tucked away in his mind along with all the other human lessons that Dean had given him.

Castiel tilted his head and continued to stare until he decided to just go with it. "Jimmy is no longer here, Dean. He was killed when I was. His soul is at peace." Castiel looked down at his vessel with vague fondness, tracing the cuffs of his sturdy trench coat as if he'd kind of missed it while he was away. Yes, it was old and a little tattered and not exactly flattering, but it was familiar. Like Dean. And more importantly, _to_ Dean. For some reason, it was important to Castiel that the hunter recognize him. "I have become accustomed to this body," he said, a faint smile on his face. "I kept it safe while I was in Heaven."

Castiel could see Dean turning that over in his mind, considering it, but he could also see him dismiss it soon after. It was the look on his face that told Castiel that the time for catching up was over.

"Why are you here, Cas?"

And that was not what Castiel had expected at all. He thought Dean would get right to the point, ask him if he was going to help and how. But why had he come? Castiel tilted his head and stared. He had thought it would be quite obvious.

"Because you called." And that was the simple truth, as it had been for most of their… what? Partnership? Friendship? Neither seemed right, but it didn't matter. What did matter was that, with only a few exceptions, Castiel _always_ came when Dean called, and he didn't understand why Dean would expect any different now.

Castiel could see Dean's uncertainty in his eyes. "I didn't call _you_," he said, and his voice was bordering on defiant. Castiel knew it was for pride's sake. Another example of the human fear of showing weakness.

"You didn't have to." This was also true. Whether Dean called for him specifically or not, he couldn't find a reason to care. Dean needed help, Castiel could give it. Who was he to deny his assistance when it was truly needed?

Dean's shoulders drooped. "Cas, you don't need to help me. Hell, you've helped me enough, you know?"

Castiel was about to answer when he saw something in Dean's eyes that made him look closer. He couldn't read the hunter's exact thoughts; they weren't spelled out for him, weren't clear like a voice inside his head. But he could _feel_ them and the emotion that lay behind them. There was bitterness first, a weak cover up for what was underneath. Abandonment.

And that's when it hit him. He had left Dean, his charge, his _friend_, just hours after he'd lost the most important person in his life. Dean had a right to be bitter.

"I'm sorry, Dean."

Dean took a step back, as if trying to break the mental connection, and shrugged it off. "Whatever. Go back to Heaven, Cas. You gave up enough for us last time." It sounded an awful lot like a dismissal, but Castiel ignored that.

"You wish to bring Sam back, do you not?"

He watched as Dean stiffened. It was an offer he couldn't refuse and Castiel knew it.

Dean's voice was hoarse when he answered. "You know I do." And Castiel just knew how much he meant it. How much he _needed_ his brother back.

"Then I will stay."

And then, unexpectedly, Dean's features became hard, almost angry. His fists clenched. Cas watched him closely, unsure of what had upset him. "Does that mean you know how to save Sam?" he growled.

_Oh__._

Castiel kept his face blank. "Yes."

And Dean really _was_ angry then. Castiel could see it bubbling up inside of him. He could see the hunter's half-hearted attempts to restrain himself. "You knew how to save Sam and you just _left_? You didn't even tell me? Not even a nudge in the right direction, you just _left_, without even a hint. I left him rotting down there for a year, Cas, and _you_ knew how to save him!" Dean was yelling in the angel's face now, but Castiel didn't flinch.

"One year ago, Dean, do you remember what I said?"

Dean nodded, but the movement was short and forced. In an effort to calm him down, Castiel reminded him.

"I told you that you got what you wanted. No Heaven, no Hell. Just more of the same. I meant what I said, but now I realize, Dean: you can't be the same. Not without your brother. Nothing is the same without Sam."

Castiel's expression softened when Dean's did. The hunter looked tired, his eyelids drooping along with his shoulders. He obviously needed rest. Castiel would not keep him much longer. "Either way, I could not have saved him then. I did not have the resources."

"Resources? What resources?" Dean's brow was furrowed in confusion.

"An army," Castiel answered, and almost smiled when Dean widened his eyes, fatigue temporarily fleeing his face.

"An army?"

Castiel nodded. "A small army, but an army nonetheless."

"Dude, what are you gonna _do_?"

The question made Castiel tilt his head again. Did Dean really not understand? Or did he simply think that Castiel wouldn't be willing to go that far for him, not again? He sighed. "I will do exactly what I did to raise _you_ from perdition, Dean. And I will bring Sam back." It was a promise Castiel didn't intend to break.

Castiel needed time to prepare, and Dean needed to rest those tired green eyes of his. With a parting nod, the angel disappeared, a gust of cool wind taking his place.

_########_

_Like it? Hate it? Feel ripped off because it was basically the same as the last chapter? Or do you like Cas POV? Let me know in a review. They always make my day, every single time I get one. _

_Hope you enjoyed._

_- Nix (:_


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